


Swearing is Caring

by DeanisBatman



Series: Random Witcher One-Shots With Unconnected Storylines [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Jaskier is a troll, M/M, Pre-Slash, Short One Shot, Tags Are Hard, copious compliments of dubious validity, it's too fucking early for this shit, swearing is caring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanisBatman/pseuds/DeanisBatman
Summary: "I don't like morning people...or mornings...or people" - Inner GeraltORJaskier sorta, almost saves their lives. Geralt is not impressed...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Random Witcher One-Shots With Unconnected Storylines [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958173
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Swearing is Caring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oFFs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oFFs/gifts).



> Let us just say my bestie is not a morning person. This is dedicated to her. XD Love ya, oFFs!

“Geralt, love of my life, star of my sky,” Jaskier began, one hand over his heart and the other thrown wide as if to encompass the true expanse of his feelings for the Witcher.

“Fuck off, bard,” Geralt growled, squinting one golden eye open to glare daggers at the other man. 

Jaskier ignored the interruption completely, is blue gaze staring off into some unseen, romantic horizon. “Nature bows to your beauty, your voice is the herald of angelic melody and-”

Geralt tried again, this time propping himself up on one elbow, white hair falling in messy rivulets around his grimace. The bedroll fell open to reveal his mostly naked body.

“Shut the fuck up, Jaskier!” he ordered.

“-you could bounce a coin off that ass,” the bard finished with a distracted frown. “That was not where I was going with that,” he admitted, scratching at his chin in thought. “No, it had been a line about wolves and heroic majesty or-” another furtive glance at Geralt’s body “-something like that.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell, and the Witcher sighed with relief, throwing himself back onto his bedding. It was so early the birds were not even singing yet, and Geralt was damned if he was going to subject himself to more of the bard’s strangeness at such an ungodly hour.

“Uh, Geralt.” A finger poked the Witcher’s shoulder. “I did have a point, you know.” 

“What?” the grumbled reply was muffled by the bedroll Geralt had planted his face in. 

“It would be good if you would get up,” he said, adding another poke. 

Geralt resisted the urge to bite the offending finger off. “Ask in the morning.”

“It is-”

“Later!” the Witcher hissed. 

“But I-”

“No.”

“Geralt, you must-”

“ _No_.”

“Really! That’s just-”

“Go the fuck to sleep, you fucking fuck.”

“Well, that’s just rude,” Jaskier sniffed at the offense. 

That was when the Witcher sensed something was off. The wind suddenly shifted, and everything smelled of ash, burnt wood, and charred animal flesh. He bolted to his feet and looked around with sleep-dazed eyes. Through the trees across from Jaskier, where the bard had been gazing so intently, he could see the flames and black smoke that signaled a rather large forest fire. It was moving steadily in their direction, flames eating up the ground. Another fifteen minutes, and he would have been able to hear the sound of wood burning. 

“I was trying to tell you that we should probably get started for the day, all things considered,” Jaskier said with his arms crossed over his chest. “Thought if I buttered you up first, you might not be such a _dick_ about it.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Well, now you’re up. I’ll get our stuff packed,” the bard said, already moving to put their things in bags. 

Feeling somewhat ashamed of his earlier assumptions, Geralt did the same. They soon had all their belongings stored and an antsy Roach ready to move out. 

As they walked away from the campsite, the Witcher tried to find the words to apologize, but they got stuck behind his teeth. At Roach’s side, Jaskier glanced up with a knowing look. 

“You don’t have to say it. I know,” he said, giving Geralt an out that the Witcher took gratefully. “However, you can make it up to me by joining me in a song.”

“No.”

“But-”

“Fuck off, bard.” 

Jaskier hid a bemused smirked by ducking his head. 

“I’ll start us off,” the bard chirped, pulling his lute around so that he could begin strumming a familiar tune. 

The Witcher let him as a strange warmth flooded his chest. Geralt decided not to study the sensation too carefully and just let it be as Jaskier’s clear voice broke through the pre-dawn darkness. 


End file.
